記憶所揭示

【美】蘇珊·惠勒　　陳子弘 譯

天使被拽入光——惹動空氣，墜落
于此。你面前擺著份闕如的早餐；
你須自己攪拌果汁。窗外，哥倫布大道，
片刻沖刺匯成擁堵大爆發(fā)。

這并非他們帶你首次去拍照緊裹的初衷，
但決心是極昂貴的疊加體。

有幾年，步伐小心翼翼穿過
下曼哈頓。噩夢中聳現(xiàn)的帆。
臺球廳，簡陋的浮雕縱橫交錯。
冰箱門背后的蛋黃醬。

你邁向前，步入光，踏上綴滿酒杯的
　　綠草坪
伴著明尼蘇達(dá)蟬的嗡鳴聲。四面八方堅(jiān)定的回應(yīng)
　　揮舞著。
他最簡單的低語、最瑣碎的安慰。點(diǎn)燃了你的裙子。

近在咫尺的燒杯旁一個胖子彎腰。

那兩個闖入你房間的人很怪誕，
你正拼著命發(fā)音碎片式收集隱私。
拋光（他們正在飛翔）約法三章（約定
警棍的災(zāi)難）——或許他們說過
國家扮裝。這兒留下空洞，那里留下缺憾，
還有他，那狗，也得著了它。
現(xiàn)在塔莉亞在整理手套箱。
右邊在靜靜地碾壓，嗡嗡聲
或輪轂，這明亮而恐怖的夜晚。

正是時間改變了怪物的基因。你被推向
新電梯后方，朝向樣板公寓，始于帆，
始于那仍在困擾你的顫抖。如同只是
夢到的兇手，你擺不脫災(zāi)難的歷史。
你的袖口，現(xiàn)在白凈挺直，映襯著套裝。
情意確認(rèn)了。

潛入水中，他的翅膀合二為一。生意
即傷害。

你刺破了什么，燈光的左輪手槍下止血帶
綁縛著腿筋？

獨(dú)行俠回應(yīng)。就像華夫餅格子樣，一束捆綁好的
烤翅。一個雞蛋掉出來。

你為早餐和它打散列出的冗長菜單
付賬。
有足夠的泥土來填埋每輛車，
每張張開的嘴在光線下打著哈欠
在哥倫布大道上。?

詩人簡介：蘇珊·惠勒（Susan Wheeler，1955年7月16日—），美國當(dāng)代詩人、小說家和教育家，以其語言密集、意象超現(xiàn)實(shí)和文化批判的詩風(fēng)著稱。出生于明尼蘇達(dá)州羅切斯特，成長于新英格蘭，她畢業(yè)于本寧頓學(xué)院文學(xué)專業(yè)，并在芝加哥大學(xué)攻讀藝術(shù)史研究生課程。惠勒出版了多部詩集，包括《鉆石袋》（1993，獲諾瑪·法伯首書獎）、《煙霧》（1998）、《源代碼》（2001）、《賬本》（2005，獲愛荷華詩歌獎）和《迷因》（2012，入圍國家圖書獎）。她的詩作融合流行文化、歷史典故和日常細(xì)節(jié)，展現(xiàn)出對消費(fèi)主義和現(xiàn)代生活的尖銳批判，被評論家譽(yù)為“真正的文化批評家”。惠勒曾獲古根海姆基金會和紐約藝術(shù)基金會獎學(xué)金，作品常出現(xiàn)在《詩歌》雜志等刊物上。她曾在愛荷華大學(xué)、紐約大學(xué)、哥倫比亞大學(xué)等任教，現(xiàn)為普林斯頓大學(xué)創(chuàng)意寫作項(xiàng)目教授（現(xiàn)為榮休教授）。她的小說《唱片宮》（2005）進(jìn)一步展現(xiàn)了其敘事才華。

SUSAN WHEELER

What Memory Reveals

Angels, pulled into light—provoking the air, fall
here. You are served a fallow breakfast;
you must stir your juice. Outside, on Columbus Avenue,
a momentary lunge convenes a trafficked burst.

This is not what was intended when they took you to your first
photo session, swaddled. But intent is a ruinous composite.

There were several years of careful steps across
lower Manhattan. A looming sail in a nightmare.
A poolhall, crisscrossed by rudimentary reliefs.
Mayonnaise in a refrigerator door.

You stepped forward, into light, onto a green lawn dotted with
? ? ? tumblers
and the hum of Minnesota cicadas. Everywhere a firm rejoinder
? ? ? waved.
He whispered the simplest, pettiest of comforts. Your dress alit.

A fat man bends beneath the beaker’s proximity.

Freakish, the two that burst into your room where you
were gathering privacy frantically, phonetically.
Burnish (they are flying) regulation (appointments a
calamity of rosewood)—or perhaps they said
furnish the nation. This left a hole, that left a lacking,
and he, the dog, had it, too.
Now Thalia rearranges the glove compartment.
On the right there is a quiet flapping, a whirring
or a wheel joint, in a bright and terrifying night.

It was time that altered monster genes. Pressed to the rear of a
new elevator toward a model apartment, you started with the sail,
with the tremoring that troubles you still. Like the murderer
who only dreamed, you can’t shake catastrophe’s history.
Your cuff, straightened now, is white against your suit.
The cordialities confirm.

Diving into water his wings conflated. Business
is damage.

What have you pricked, a tourniquet hamstring
under a revolver of lights?

A Lone Ranger replies. There is a waffling like a tournedos
of bundled wings. An egg drops out.

You pay for your breakfast and its litanous menu,
scrambled.
There is earth enough to fill each car,
each open mouth yawing in the light
on Columbus Avenue.

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? from Sulfur